


(not) so empty

by scriptdoctors



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Choking, M/M, POV Second Person, Trans Leon S. Kennedy, halloween is once again closing in on us, some pred/prey, which means in the spirit of halloween leon can get pounded by this 8 foot monster. as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26661019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriptdoctors/pseuds/scriptdoctors
Summary: Your body is so sweet now, I'm saying trick or treat nowYou know I've got to have you, you sexy sweet cadaver----------They say when you're about to die that your life flashes before your eyes.You know that's not true now. Death is one bite away and you struggle to think of anything other than the feeling of cold teeth against your clammy skin and the iron grip it has on you.(REUPLOAD FROM OCTOBER 2019)
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Mr. X | Tyrant T-00
Comments: 10
Kudos: 164





	(not) so empty

**Author's Note:**

> god. hello. sorry i deleted this on my other account. its back up now tho! i suppose i can safely say this would be my nsfw account while the other is for ones where dicks dont touch.
> 
> i can feel myself itching to rewrite this cause god. 2nd pov is killing me and my writing style has def changed since i wrote this. but that is a problem for future me. anyways enjoy this oldish fic. please dont roast me too hard for anything in this i havent edited anything except italics

Jesus Christ, your back hurts.

Of course after getting clipped by an eighteen wheeler (and then getting blown back onto a car from the ensuing explosion), running up and down stairs, nearly getting your throat ripped out by would-be colleagues and those long tongued fucks, running up and down MORE fucking stairs, and… landing on a metal grate walkway with whatever the hell _that_ was in the Machinery Room, the ladder on the roof HAD to collapse. While you were still on it. Which lead to you landing back first onto the ground. Which then lead to you near dragging yourself to a nearby bench on the roof to lay down after deciding laying on the ground in the rain wouldn't help your poor back.

(As if laying on a cold, metal bench in the rain is really that much of an improvement)

The benches were never designed for people to lay on, so your legs dangle over the armrest. You splay a hand over your face and try to rub some of the dirt off. Your hand probably comes back dirty, but it's hard to see with rain hitting you in the face, so you wipe it off on your soaking wet vest and let it rest on your face. Best not to dry drown yourself.

If your back wasn't messed up before, it sure is now. Your back throbs, sending deep bouts of pain radiating into your legs. You have some first aid spray in the item box in the main hall, but that means moving. And moving means dealing with the helicopter on fire twenty feet away from you.

You sigh.

Just… a few more minutes. You can lie down for a few more minutes.

Your mind drifts to Claire after a bit. How she was just outside that locked door at the fire escape. Her running away when that helicopter crashed and set off the fire alarm, being chased by zombies. That must have been nearly an hour ago, you think. You haven't been paying attention to the time since you first looked at the terminal in the main hall… You know she can take care of herself, from the little amount of time you've known each other, but you can't help but feel anxious thinking about it.

(Well, more anxious than you have been since you first walked into that gas station)

You need to find her, and to do that means you have to get out of this police department. Which goes back to the first part; moving.

...Shit.

You don't yell when you slowly sit up. You do, however, let out a yell when you stand. Your back still hurts like a bitch, and rubbing circles through your bullet proof vest only does so much.

Claire is still too far away, though. You muster the will to walk down the stairs. Maybe you can find something to put that fire out.

\----------

You do just that.

You had nearly cried tears of relief finding not just one, but _two_ green herbs at the bottom of the stairs. The zombies behind the boiler room door nearby were nonexistent to you as you used them immediately, numbing the pain. You knew you would still need a first aid spray, but at least you could walk without feeling like your spine was going to fall out of your ass.

You flipped the switch to redirect the water flow, then walked back up the stairs and pulled the lever, watching water put the fire out from the helicopter.

You try not to notice how it still somewhat smells like burning flesh as you open the door into the hallway.

You turn the corner, and you realize you still have a problem, which was the actual helicopter. It was blocking the entire hallway, still steaming slightly from the recent fire. Maybe you could crawl through the window to the other side? But the metal is still too hot, it would burn you, even through all your layers… And you didn't want to move the pilot, like they were just some object in your way-

The helicopter suddenly shifts, being lifted up and shoved aside. The creak of metal is nearly deafening as you watch the largest man you have ever seen pick up an actual helicopter with one hand.

(...Holy shit)

The man is silent, staring at you from across the hall as he crushes the remains of the helicopter like a crumpled piece of paper. Metal and bolts fall onto his black leather trench coat as he gives it a final shove, making sure it doesn't move. He hasn't stopped staring at you as his hand falls to the side (Holy shit…???).

You can feel your heart pounding.

He takes a step forward.

...You realize this isn't a man.

Moonlight shines through the hole in the wall, illuminating his grey face. Deep wrinkles are carved into every inch of his- no, _its_ ,- face, and its eyes, you've never seen eyes so white before. So emotionless.

So empty.

You don't hesitate, raising your gun, “Stay back!”

It takes another step forward.

You shoot.

The bullet doesn't even phase it.

It gets closer. You shoot twice, aiming for the face.

It doesn't go down. It only gets closer.

You turn around and run.

\----------

You stumble down the large stairs into the main hall, clutching your left arm. It throbs painfully, sending coursing pain into your shoulder and to the tips of your fingers. You nearly fell on your face on the way down, but you gather yourself and run to the item box, letting go of your injured arm in favor of opening and rummaging around inside the chest. Gunpowder, a key you don't need, MORE gunpowder, a blue herb, where the hell-

Your hand finds exactly what you're looking for; a first aid spray. You frantically unbuckle your elbow pad and roll your white sleeve up, wasting no time spraying the bottle on your arm. The pain dies down immediately and you nearly moan from relief.

That thing, while you tried to get around it on the roof, had missed your head and ended up hitting you on the arm. It didn't even hit you properly like it intended to, but had still sent you barreling into the wall. Your back pain had sparked back to life from the impact, but was drowned out by the fresh agony in your arm. If that punch had hit you in the head you were certain your skull would have been caved in.

Your right hand clenched your arm, trying to mitigate the pain with pressure, and you turned your head on instinct toward your injury when a fist came flying to where your head had been just a moment ago. Its fist broke through the wall, and you heard bricks falling to the wet ground.

You looked up in fear.

It had been looking down on you, its body overshadowing yours completely. Rain fell heavily on its jacket, dripping down in thick, cold droplets onto you.

(Holy shit why is it so big)

The dust was still flying in the air from the punch as you felt something in your stomach that was a mix of fear and something else not appropriate for the situation you were in.

It hadn’t blinked the whole time, eyes not leaving yours as it pulled its fist back from the hole in the wall.

It had looked so unfazed, as if it hadn’t just turned a bunch of bricks into dust.

It reached for you, and you couldn't move, holy shit you couldn't get away, your legs wouldn't do anything, move, dammit, do SOMETHING-

A groan from the stairs. Your eyes flickered over for a moment. One of the zombies from earlier climbed up the stairs. You swore you had double tapped it, maybe it had been playing dead?

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that huge monster had looked at the zombie instead of you. You had run away in that moment, slamming doors open and running down halls until you were here at the reception area, using precious, precious, first aid spray on your arm and trying to decide what to do next. God, your head hurts, you can barely think-

You hear thundering footsteps coming closer, followed by a door upstairs slamming open.

FUCK.

You drop down next to the box, curling your legs into yourself, struggling to make yourself as flush as possible against it. Its footsteps slow near the top of the steps, and you pray that it goes into the library.

Its heavy footsteps do not go toward the library, but down the stairs.

FUCKFUCKFUCK.

You try to tell yourself to stay calm, that it still might choose to go through the door to the west office. If you were an eight foot tall monster on a mission to kill, you would choose to look there first and not in such a crappy hiding place like you are now. It would only make sense-

You hear a groan over the stomping.

Oh God, you forgot Marvin.

The footsteps stopped. Another groan plays out, and you think it doesn't sound anything like Marvin, it just sounds like one of those THINGS, but you killed all the zombies that wandered in here, and you nearly give away your hiding spot, covering your mouth to hide a gasp when you realize what that means.

The monster stomps toward the sound, and you hear what used to be Marvin snarl as it approaches. You cringe at the sound of his skull being crushed from the impact of a punch. His body crumples to the ground, and all is silent.

You can't breathe, not wanting to give away your position. It might still go through the offices-

In just a few steps, it descends down the ramp, turning its head to look at you.

It wastes no time coming towards you.

You rapidly stand, avoiding its reaching hand as you rush to the other side of the reception desk, raising your handgun.

It stops for a moment to look at you before coming around the desk, where you then run back behind, gun still drawn. It stops again, then attempts to do the same, which leads to you running back to the front.

This happens a few more times, like a game of musical chairs. Except in this version if you lose you die.

You would have half a mind to say it looked annoyed at this standoff. You can hear the leather of its gloves creak as it tightens its fists at its side.

You nearly smile as you say, “I can do this all night, big guy.”

In an instant too fast, it reaches across the counter with both hands. You try to jump back and shoot, but the bullet just bounces right off of it, and it knocks the gun out of your hand with a gloved hand of its own, letting it clatter against the floor. The other grabs you by the arm.

It drags you across the desk, knocking papers and other office supplies off as it takes you closer to it. You grab onto its offending arm with your shaking hands and oh God you can barely wrap both of them around half its forearm, why does this thing have to be so _big-_

The hand lets go of your arm but instantly finds a new location;

Your neck.

It single-handedly lifts you off the ground like you weigh nothing at all.

Your feet kick uselessly in the air trying to find some sort of foothold, only succeeding in kicking against its solid chest as it continues to glare into your soul.

It doesn't break eye contact as it starts to _squeeze_.

Your gasp as air starts to become a lacking resource. Your efforts to escape its grip double, kicking it as hard as you can. It doesn't even budge, not seeming to notice how hard you are fighting against it, and it wont stop fucking STARING at you. You don't think it's blinked once since you've seen it.

You do anything you can think of, clawing at its arm, continue kicking, but none of it matters. You can't do anything in its iron grip.

(The thought sparks something in you again. Its small, and you can barely feel it over your need to breathe, but you recognize it too well)

(What the hell is wrong with you?)

Your vision starts to spot from lack of oxygen to your brain. You try and jam your fingers under its own to wiggle free unsuccessfully. You can't tell if that’s raindrops still on its glove or drool.

(Or Marvin's blood)

“Please… N-No…”

Its barely above a whisper, and you almost can’t hear it yourself with blood rushing around your ears, making them ring. But it hears. The behemoth pauses for a moment, then another, and then releases the pressure on your neck. You cough and sputter trying to draw air in, throat spasming from the strangulation. All you manage to do is choke on your own spit.

It doesn't let you rest as it squeezes again, even tighter than before.

The sound you let out starts off as a gasp but quickly turns into a moan.

THAT makes it stop.

Your face, already red from the choking, turns even more red (what the fuck was that what the fuck what the fuck-) as you look down at it. If it looked emotionless before, you can see the confusion clear on its face now.

The pressure gone from your neck means that blood is finally rushing back to your brain. You have an idea.

You reach down to your belt and grab a flash grenade, activating it and dropping it on the ground. The monster looks down as you close your eyes.

It goes off with a loud _bang_.

You can still see the bright light behind your eyelids as it unceremoniously drops you onto the ground, letting you fall on your ass (and fuck, that does not do your back any favors). You open your eyes to see that it's taken a knee to the floor, covering its eyes. You waste no time running around the desk to grab Matilda and head straight for the dark room as you continue to cough and gasp for air.

\----------

What even is your life anymore?

You think in an alternate timeline life would probably be going great right now. You just graduated from the police academy, with flying colors, mind you, going to your new post in Raccoon City. You didn't have a plan about where to live or an apartment already set up, but it would have worked itself out. Everyone at R.P.D. would have liked you (or tolerated you, more likely). Maybe something would have happened that you would have resolved so perfectly that the chief would have had no doubt that taking you into the fold was the best idea he had in years.

Instead you show up a week late after getting told to stay away, and, when you get there, have enough zombie-induced-near-death experiences to last the rest of your life.

And that all leather wearing asshole won't stop following you.

You run? It’s right behind you.

You shoot? There it is, ready to revoke your breathing privileges.

You happen to exist? No sir, not on its watch.

This thing is a bloodhound, and it's caught your scent permanently it seems.

But you can tell where it's been as well.

Previous halls and rooms you've had to backtrack to have had a noticeable lack of zombies. Corpses that were there previously have vanished, and zombies you outran or relieved of their legs are nowhere to be seen. All that remains are different blood splatters then you remember on the wall and giant bloody boot prints on the floor.

You were about to (very hesitantly) nearly call it helpful till it pursued you outside of the break room. You had slammed the door behind you, leaning against it as you heard the boots stop in front of the door.

But it didn't go away.

Only a thin wooden door stood between you and the monster as you heard a rustle just outside. Followed by the sound of something metal clinking on the ground.

What the-

The same sound, again. Metal clattering on the ground before falling silent.

Then again.

And again.

Each sound may as well have been a bomb dropping. It's all you can hear over your pounding heart. The thought ran through your head that it might actually be grenades, but that wouldn't make any sense, it's still out there…

You counted seven different things, the last one hitting another on the ground and rolling slowly to a stop.

A pause.

…

…

…

It walked away.

You had stayed completely still, straining your ears listening to it walk further and further away until you couldn't hear it anymore. Then you stayed still longer.

Only a few minutes later did you have the courage to crack the door open.

Seven different flash grenades. All broken beyond use. You didn't have to look closely to see the obvious indents of large fingers on them.

… One of the dirty beds in the break room became a temporary oasis as you tried (and failed) to breathe, rubbing your throat.

\----------

Who thought it was a good idea to place the box you need INSIDE where the bell is in the clock tower? What mental gymnastics was the last guy going through? Did everyone here purposefully put everything in the most batshit locations or as far away from each other as humanly possible just to annoy you?

You know that someone probably was just interrupted while fixing it and left it but… Just… Your head hurts. Everything fucking hurts. You used up the last of that first aid spray on your throat, but your back has started acting up again, sending new rounds of pain through your legs. But the obvious choice the first time was healing your arm. You needed both arms to even be able to rub the spray into your back, and you need both arms to use your guns and flashlight.

The second time… Breathing without pain was preferable to walking without pain. You could still WALK, it just hurt like a bitch. Breathing is required for walking, however, and you didn't want to pass out from lack of oxygen in the middle of the police department.

(And the bruise it had left on your neck made you feel. Weird. And turned something in your stomach that quickly made you rub the medicine into it without a second thought to make the feeling go away)

(The bruise is still there, just lighter now)

Oh God, quit thinking about this. Stop it. It's not getting that box down there any faster.

You can hear it coming, too. You need to hurry up.

Stomp. Stomp.

Your arms are too short to reach it. You could try shooting the box down, but you risk breaking the power panel inside… You need something long enough to knock it down.

Luckily for you, you see some stray wooden planks in the corner. The person fixing the bell must have left them there too.

You have an idea of what caused him to leave in such a rush.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

You pick one up and climb up the stairs, then try and shove it between the bars protecting the bell. No luck.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

You force yourself to lay on your stomach to try and reach it. You try and ignore the way your back aches as you struggle to reach the box still.

You can’t ignore the footsteps getting louder, however.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

You struggle to keep a solid grip on the plank as you edge it closer to the box, until you finally manage to touch it. You force the plank forward as hard as you can, causing the box to fall to the ground.

Step one successful.

Step two…

You press your hands to the ground and attempt to lift yourself up. Any other day, it would only take a moment. But right now, right when you need it, it takes too long, forcing yourself not to yell out as your back sends wave after wave of agony through you. You can feel the sweat start to bead on your forehead by the time you stand.

Stomp. Stomp.

...

A not so distant door slams open.

It must be in the library.

You go as quickly as you can down the stairs, each step beginning to feel torturous.

STOMP. STOMP.

You need a first aid spray. Probably an actual doctor at this point. You're scared you've actually broken something.

You need a fucking break.

STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.

You stumble to the door and throw it open.

It's standing on the top floor, near the ladder. Right in front of the door to the west storage room.

Fuck.

There's no way out that doesn't involve jumping.

The first option is going to the left and trying to jump the gap where you fell through the floor much, much earlier, before this whole game of cat and mouse started. A jump which you will surely miss and maybe impale yourself on the giant wooden splinters of the broken walkway to boot.

Or walk forward a few steps and jump down from the top of the bookshelves.

The answer was obvious, but both were going to hurt like a motherfucker.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

You hadn't even noticed that it had stopped moving for a moment, watching you figure out a way to try and escape, but the sound of its thunderous footsteps starting again jolted you into action.

You walk forward, turn to the left, and jump down.

You land on your feet and scream.

You immediately collapse onto the ground, the pain from your back tripling as it sends molten lava through your legs. It feels as though someone has taken each individual muscle in your lower half and set them on fire. An involuntary spasm courses through you, causing your body to tense up even more. You choke back another scream.

You can't tell if the wetness on your face is from sweat or tears.

You try and sit up, failing miserably. You almost puke in your mouth from the pain.

A loud crashing noise followed by splinters falling into your hair makes you turn your head from the ground.

...The monster, instead of walking down the walkway or using the ladder, had jumped down instead.

Sending it straight through the floor, leaving its top half poking out of the library floor like a mole.

Silence.

…

…

...

You laugh.

You can't help it. You laugh, and laugh, and you keep laughing till your lungs hurt and you must look fucking ridiculous with your red face pressed into the dirty, unswept library floor.

It looked confused at first, and still does, honestly. It's probably never seen anyone actively laugh at it before that it doesn't know how to react. It hasn't tried freeing itself yet, watching you laugh till the laughter turns to wheezes, which turn into coughs.

“You idiot.”

You try to lean forward, supporting yourself with your arms. It hurts slightly less, but God the need to scream is still there.

“Haven't you noticed that this building is falling apart? You're built like a fucking brick shithouse and you jumped down an entire level onto these rickety floors. Of course the floor broke.”

You finally manage to sit up, grabbing onto the metal jack for extra support. You point at it,

“And now look at you! Stuck in the floor and you can't do shit about it! That's what you get for trying to kill me!”

You're getting heated now, your previous elation turning into anger. It keeps looking at you as you raise your voice.

“You think you're the shit, stomping around and slamming doors open like you own the place. You don't even fucking work here!”

You tuck your legs in slowly and lean forward again, grabbing the bookshelf as you pull yourself up.

“You look ridiculous too! Who wears all black leather?! Is that supposed to make you look inconspicuous or something? You could wear a freaking speedo and it wouldn't make a difference because you're eight feet tall! Everyone's going to look at you anyway! You're as “covert” as a mountain!”

God, you're having a freak out in front of a monster that you're not even sure understands speech-

But it wont stop fucking looking at you.

“QUIT STARING AT ME, ASSHOLE!”

It does not.

You finally manage to stand on wobbly legs as you shout, “BLINK, MOTHERFUCKER, _BLINK!_ ”

Silence fills the library, save your heavy breathing. You nearly shout at it again when you see it move its eyelids ever so slowly closed...

…

...Then open them back up again just as slowly. Like it had never blinked before and was learning how to do it.

...Huh.

“... Whatever, I-” You push yourself off the bookcase, now standing freely without any support. It still hurt. It hurt really bad, but you had to move. Even if all the nearby zombies were dead as far as you knew, it was all too possible that some would be attracted from the screaming, “-Am leaving. You can stay there and think about what you did. It wasn’t nice knowing you. Fuck you for fucking up my back even more and nearly crushing my windpipe. Eat a dick.”

You take a few small steps towards the door. Your back is killing you. Your legs are killing you. Being in this fucking police department is killing you.

You need a first aid spray.

As you close the door behind you, you can hear the creak of metal and more wood splintering. It must have found a foothold on the lockers below it in the safety room, now that you think about it.

Its fine. You have a head start.

The desks in the west office help support you to the dark room. Your hand glides across their surface as you limp towards your goal.

You try not to look at the names of the people you will never get to know.

Right as you close the door behind you, you hear it slam the west office door open.

You rub up against the wall, letting your weight lay against it as you walk to the dark room. You nearly turn the corner when the next door slams open. You turn your head over your shoulder and say, “Oh no, I’m almost there!”

You are actively taunting a monster that can pop your skull like a balloon.

You can't bring yourself to care right now.

It's coming toward you as you struggle toward safety. Your legs are almost about to collapse from pain and exhaustion.

It's coming down the hall.

You're in front of the door.

It's turned the corner. It's less than seven feet from you now.

It doesn't stop. It keeps coming.

You turn the knob.

It's almost on you, you can sense it reaching out-

-And you enter complete and utter safety, and close the door behind you with the most satisfying click you have ever heard.

You lean back against the door and laugh. You can feel the anger radiating from outside the door as you escaped it once again. It stands there for a few moments, knowing that for whatever goddamn reason it cant enter the room. It stands on the other side, and you don't have to see it to know it's trying to break down the door with sight alone.

It's unsuccessful. After a very long few seconds, it begins to stomp away.

At that moment, the best idea you have ever had comes to you.

A stupid, idiotic, probably (no, definitely) dangerous one.

You turn around and open the door.

“Hey.”

It stops, and turns toward you.

You raise Matilda.

It only takes one shot to knock the hat from its bald head.

“Bitch.”

… The rage on its face was the most intense emotion you had seen thus far from it the whole night. It stomped harder than it had all night, going from its normal slow pace to an anger filled speed walk, but you close the door behind you again and laugh your heart out. You slide down against the door, sitting on your ass as you continue to laugh and laugh and laugh.

You don't even realize how tired you are until you eventually quiet down and drift off.

\----------

You wake yourself up when you slump to the side and hit the floor.

You jolt on the ground, eyes wide open. How long were you asleep? It couldn't have been too long… Right?

You need to quit screwing around. You have all the power panel pieces now. You need to go back to the jail and get that key card and get the hell out of here.

You try and lift yourself up. Your back says otherwise. You fall back down onto the ground.

… What the hell is your life anymore.

You can barely move, laying on the ground in the police department dark room. All your colleagues, if not the entire city, are dead or trying to kill you.

And an insanely strong, mute, eight foot tall freak is hunting you down relentlessly. One that had no problem killing all the other zombies in the building and crushing your esophagus like it was a toothpick.

That you then taunted. And shot off its stupid hat.

… It's a lot less funny now than it was before.

You slowly force yourself into a sitting position against the door. Your back hurts a little less than it did after jumping down in the library, but its still sending “Jesus-Christ-Get-Some-Fucking-Help” signals to your brain and legs, throbbing constantly.

You need first aid spray. Maybe even two at this point. Spray that you don't have.

You slam your head against the door, gritting your teeth. What are you going to do? You can barely walk, and you've searched all the rooms of this damn police department.

… Your fingers graze your handgun before drawing them back the next moment.

No, don't even think about it. That's not an option. You have to get out of here.

You have to find Claire.

Which means searching all these rooms again for a first aid spray you might have missed.

It takes you a minute to stand. While you struggle, you strain your ears to hear if that fucker is anywhere nearby.

You hear nothing.

Good.

You exit the dark room, not giving the stairs a second glance as you take uneasy, pain filled steps. You would graduate to stairs later. You would check the west office again first, there might be a spray in someone's desk drawer-

You turn the corner and run right into it.

“Shit!-“

It grabs you by the arms with both hands, lifting you up and slamming you into the hallway wall, causing you to yelp.

It was waiting for you, you didn't hear anything because it hadn't fucking moved, God you're dead, you're dead, nonono-

Your arms are near useless due to the grip. All you can do is claw at its sleeves. You kick your legs, even though it hurts, even though it's USELESS, but you have to try, do something-

It positions itself between your legs, forcing them to stretch to accommodate its massive size. You still try kicking its back, but it hurts so fucking bad. Your kicks weaken as it grip tightens.

You look up at it.

Its gaze is filled with _intent_.

And you can see the hole in the brim of the hat where the bullet went through.

You're going to fucking die over a fedora.

It's too intense. You turn your head and close your eyes.

Instead of crushing your body like a soda can, it tilts its head down, placing its head down next to your neck. You feel it put its mouth on your skin. It’s cold, colder than any normal humans.

It starts dragging its lips up and down your neck. Slowly. Methodically.

Jesus Christ it's gonna bite you, it's not gonna kill you, it's going to turn you into one of those things-

It parts its lips on cue, its blunt teeth making contact with your neck.

You can feel your heart about to explode out of your chest.

They say when you're about to die that your life flashes before your eyes.

You know that's not true now. Death is one bite away and you struggle to think of anything other than the feeling of cold teeth against your clammy skin and the iron grip it has on you.

You hope Claire can make it out ok without you.

You swallow.

…

It doesn't bite you.

It takes its teeth and drags them along your neck.

… What.

You open your eyes. It does it again, gliding its teeth along the strained curve of your neck. And again. And again, ever so slowly.

It sparks something inside your gut.

(The same one as before)

You try and shove it down-

Unsuccessfully, when it sticks its cold tongue out to lick a stray bead of sweat off your neck, drifting up to your jaw.

“Ah!”

Holy fuck, that felt. Good. What the fuck- Wait, you're not even struggling anymore, when did that happen-

You grip its arms. Your hands tighten as it continues, grazing and licking your neck like its trying to fucking taste you- and you're letting it, what is WRONG with you-

It pauses its motions to take a section of your neck into its mouth and suck.

Blood is running south now.

You stifle a moan, reaching up between you and it with a hand to cover your mouth. It continues to suck, and Jesus, its starting to fucking bite too, but its not breaking the skin, its like its being careful and you cant even think properly because you're getting a fucking hickey from a bald behemoth in the middle of the police department and you are actually kind of enjoying it.

(God, it’s not even kind of, is it?)

(You're going to hell. It’s official)

It stops sucking, releasing the bruised section of your neck free. It gives it one final lick, making you shiver. It pulls its head back, and you look at it.

It still has the same look on its face as it did before, but its pupils are blown wide. You can see spit glistening off its lips from the moonlight in the hallway. You can only imagine what you look like.

All is silent in the police department as the two of you stare at each other. The only thing to be heard is your heavy breathing as you watch its eyes go from yours to the other side of your neck. You put your hand down from your mouth. Was it… trying to communicate?

It seems annoyed by your lack of answer. It squeezes your arms momentarily before darting its eyes towards the non defiled part of your neck, and looking you in the eyes again.

...Holy shit.

It's asking permission to do it again. On the other side.

Silence once more.

…

...

“... Ok.”

It's breathier than you wanted to sound, but this fucking thing is asking for consent, and you just GAVE it, and it wastes no time in giving its new given territory the same treatment, nipping the sensitive flesh between its teeth and sucking. It forces itself closer between your legs, causing its torso to grind against your lower half. You can't help but moan as you struggle to move, and it's not to get away, its to try and get much needed friction-

It lets out a deep rumble from the back of its throat, sending vibrations through your neck as it sucks at a sensitive spot on your neck.

“S-Shit-”

But eventually, the pleasure gives way to pain.

You had nearly been able to ignore the pain in your back, but having to keep your legs forced so wide in a somewhat awkward position made the pain come back alive again.

You gripped its jacket tighter. You tried to ignore it as long as you could, sweat starting to pool on your forehead. It didn't seem to notice, just licking the sweat that falls down your neck.

Eventually, it's too much.

Your legs start shaking from the pain involuntarily. You groan, chanting, “Ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow-”

The behemoth stops and pulls back, taking some of the pressure away with it.

You focus on breathing for a few seconds, taking in deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your mouth to try and divert the pain.

(It doesn't work at all, really)

You look at it. It doesn't need to ask for you to know it wants an answer.

“Sorry, uh… My back. It just hurts. Really bad.”

It doesn't move, seeming to think your words over. The monster then seems to come to a conclusion, as its grip on you shifts, and before you know it you're pressed up against its wide chest, bridal style.

“Wait, wha- hey!”

It ignores you, shifting you once more in its arms to get a solid hold on you, and starts to walk up the stairs.

Your mind starts racing, wondering where the hell is it going to take you. Blood is starting to go back to your (actual) head as its booming steps up the creaking stairs permeate your thoughts. The thought of trying to escape comes first. But it's not like you can even truly move right now, it seems to have a pretty firm grip on you right now. Even if you did get out of it, it would just catch you immediately considering the poor state of your back.

(You don't know if you want to get away right now, anyway)

You draw your hands up to your chest, not sure what to do with them as you watch the two of you pass the second floor and go straight to the third. It turns down the hall through the busted wall and stops in front of the office desk. It sits you down carefully on a clear corner before knocking all other objects on the desk off, save the lamp.

It then walks over to the bookshelves to the left, and reaches on top of it. Its hand returns from the dusty top with a first aid spray.

What the hell? Who would hide a first aid spray there?

…

Wait a second.

“Is that how you've been following me this whole time!?! Keeping track of shit like that and seeing when it's gone???”

Jesus Christ, you're not sure if you should be angry at it or yourself.

(You do feel a bit impressed, however)

It makes no effort in responding, ignoring your question in favor of turning and walking back, towering over you (Jesus Christ on His throne this thing is huge holy crap). It slowly raises its hand, first aid spray in its grasp.

Your brain short circuits.

“... Uh.”

It doesn't address your confusion and starts tugging on your vest. A bit too forcefully, as you can feel something start to tear and give.

You grab its hand, trying to force it away, “Wait, wait! Stop, I need that to live!”

It doesn't pull away, but it stops. You look up at it.

God, you have to strain your neck to look at it from this angle. The shitty light from the lamp next to you is hitting its face, making the wrinkles look even deeper than they are, carving extra lines into it.

Being this close should scare you, and, yeah, it still kind of does, but… You need that first aid spray. Or else you really will die.

“Just… Let me get it, ok?”

It considers your words.

... It lets go, backing up somewhat.

“...Thanks.”

… The elbow pads go first. They're easy, just some velcro. You take them off and let them fall into a pile on the floor. The next to go is your vest. You pause, thinking about where exactly you are in your life at the moment.

Stripping off your protection in the middle of a zombie infested city. In front of one of the most dangerous things here. Hell, THE most dangerous thing here.

(Although, the vest won't protect you against much from it. A simple punch from it will still break ribs if it decides to punch you in the chest)

It rumbles above you, interrupting your thoughts.

“Shit, sorry, sorry.”

You fiddle with the straps, and the vest follows the elbow pads to the floor. Lifting both your shirts off makes you realize how sore your arms are and fuck, those are hand shaped marks starting to form on them from earlier-

And then you are half naked in front of it. And you feel oddly embarrassed. Is it normal to be embarrassed in a situation like this? If it was someone cute that invited you back to their room, sure, but this is different. Obviously. Of course.

Right?

You aren't sure what to do with your arms again. You settle for reaching for the spray in its hand.

“Alright. Uh, gimme that spray, I guess-”

In several moments too fast, you go from sitting up to forced to lay on your stomach long ways across the desk.

It doesn't feel great, having been manhandled so quickly. You try and lift yourself up even as the pain prevents you, "Hey, what-“

It puts its hand on your back and presses you down.

You try again.

It pushes down, harder this time. It's not going to let you move anytime soon.

You sigh, giving up. It seems satisfied feeling your body relax under its touch. It retracts its hand, grabbing hold of the desk to drag it away from the wall. It pauses, and you hear it kicking your clothes out of the way.

It then gets behind you, positioning itself right where your clothes were but a moment ago. It pushes your legs aside to situate itself between them. It hits the desk accidentally, and you have to grab the lamp to prevent it from falling off.

You don't hear the shaking of the can, but you do feel the cold spray hitting your back.

You hiss at the sensation, the cold, greasy spray being applied evenly over the entire expanse of your back. The spray, mixed with you lacking any sort of shirt makes you realize how cold it is in here. You shiver, drawing your arms closer to yourself. Once it makes sure every inch of your back has been covered does it start to rub it in.

The leather gloves feel even colder against your back, making you squeak (very cool, Leon). It pauses.

This is so goddamn weird. This thing, the same thing you've personally seen killing zombies and lifting helicopters like they're toys, is attempting to try and make you feel better.

...Or at least well enough that the pain won't interrupt whatever was happening downstairs again.

You had almost forgotten that was what lead you here. You rub your face, feeling it heat up. It's not like it could even see it anyway right now. (Why the hell do you even care what it thinks? God, your life is so weird)

It hasn't moved its hand the whole time. You realize it's waiting on you.

“... It's fine. I’m fine, just-... go ahead.”

...It begins slowly. It rubs small circles into your (surely bruised) flesh, starting from your shoulders and working its way down. You let out an involuntary sigh, feeling the medicine start to tingle as it begins the healing process. It starts to press down harder, sending the medicine deeper into your pores and instead of hurting its starting to feel really fucking good. It's been a very, very long time since someone has touched your back like this, crossing over into “back massage” territory you didn't think it would as it goes from one hand to two.

You get lost in the sensations, feeling knots you didn't realize you had get loosened under those large, leather gloves. The constant rubbing has caused its hands to heat up, and you feel yourself groan as its still lubed gloves trail up your back and start to rub between your shoulder blades. You close your eyes, feeling yourself go even more limp against the wooden desk. You turn to putty in the monsters (very skilled) hands.

Eventually, during the exquisite massage, a hand starts wandering. It starts travelling your back, softly touching marks on it while the other continues to rub into you. The thing seems almost thoughtful as it touches moles and scars you've long forgotten the source of. It makes you realize just how great you feel now compared to earlier. The first aid spray is truly taking effect now. You’re very glad you don't end up needing a doctor. That would make things awkward.

You nearly tell it that it can stop when it leans further over you, completely enveloping you from behind. It lowers its face down into the crook of your neck, and you can feel its hat poking your head as is fucking smells you, holy shit-

It nips you, and you let out a small gasp.

You grab onto the desk as it continues, leaving marks on the crook of your neck as it rubs into you, but it's harder and more heated, you can tell- and you think to yourself that theoretically you could escape right now. You have a hand grenade that you had found much earlier, but you had been scared to use it lest you tear down the building even more. But it's distracted, and doesn't even have a grip on you, so it would probably be too shocked for that crucial moment for you to roll off the desk, grab your clothes and set it off to do anything. You could run to the jail and grab the key card and get the hell out of here, and even if the grenade didn't injure it, you would have a head start.

You twitch, hands flexing in their grip on the desk at the thought-

Its hands grab onto your hips, and drags you closer to it.

You hear a heavy thud as it gets onto its knees behind you, and God it can still tower over you like this it’s so tall-

A hand tangles itself into your hair and pulls.

God, the moan you let out at that moment would have been embarrassing if blood wasn't rushing directly to your dick from that.

Your legs are spread wide, the monster fit snug between them as it starts making one of the first hickeys on your neck even larger, taking advantage of the newfound access to more of your neck, and it hurts but it's also so _good_ and you can feel yourself shake as you lift yourself up to help it get an even better angle.

It lets out a deep rumble into your ear, pleased at your implied consent, and the grip in your hair and on your hip tightens. You can feel the roots in your hair straining in its grip, and you realize it could easily pull your scalp from your head if it felt like it.

It's not though. It's doing it hard, but light enough to try and make you feel good.

…

You don't have much sexual experience with people. You've had a few short term girlfriends, and even a boyfriend at one point for a little while, after you left your parents house. They had always been breathing down your neck, never letting you do anything, especially not date someone. And even afterwards, you had never gotten past making out and some heavy petting, due to dysphoria. You hadn't felt comfortable with your chest and genitals enough to let someone touch you like that.

And while your parents were accepting (which was a fucking blessing in and of itself) and helped you scrap together money for hormones and top surgery, you just ended up being too busy to do anything else besides work and the few college classes you could afford.

Then you decided to become an officer, and you became too busy in police academy to think about sex.

And now here you were, getting another fucking hickey from a gigantic monster who can snap your neck like a twig if it wanted to.

(As if it's not the hottest thing that's happened to you in your life)

…

…

…

When you die, the Devil will welcome you into Hell with open arms. He will stoop down, and his breath will smell like sulfur when he tells you how long he has been expecting you. He will give you a tour of his fire and brimstone home, showcasing all of the tortured, evil souls in his grasp, all of the plans he has to sway those who still live to sin. The tour will end, eventually, with him showing you the most magnificent golden throne you have ever seen, covered in glorious jewels, glistening beyond belief, with cursive engraved into the base.

It will say “Leon S. Kennedy: Man who sleeps with monsters.”

And you will smile, and say to the Devil, “That's true, isn't it?”

… Because, fuck it. You've been having thoughts about it since you first saw it, thoughts you've tried to bury and not think about. God knows how hard you've tried to ignore them (with little success). But if it feels the same…

It turns out you're much easier than you thought.

“H...Harder.”

You don't need to ask twice.

It pulls your hair harder, and you don't hold back any noise this time. Your moans and pants fill the otherwise silent room, save for quiet sucking sounds, as it marks your neck once again. You can feel its hand on your hip start to drift until it's touching your ass, kneading the flesh over your pants, and you think that it's probably getting grease marks all over it from the spray, but you couldn't give less of a shit right now. Everything just feels so good and new and different.

It lets go of your hair in favor of putting its other hand on your ass as well, and you feel it shift, its face moving from your neck to your back. It nips at your back, making you twitch and shiver as it slowly goes lower and lower until its mouth is right at your belt.

It kneads your ass once more before it grabs your pants and _tugs_.

You shoot up, raising yourself on your hands and trying to slide forward, not wanting your only pair of pants ruined, “Wait, wait, hold up!”

It retracts its hands back at your sudden shouting, letting you pull yourself forward and flip over before sitting up and drawing your legs back. Its face is blank as it still sits on its knees, but you can see how wide its pupils are from where you were.

Being farther away from those large (really, really large, and more skilled than you thought) hands makes you realize a few things as well.

But first things first.

“Look,” you wave a hand, “You can't just tear up my clothes. They're the only ones I have, and I am not looting any zombies of theirs. So just let me handle that.”

It doesn't let anything one way or another flicker over its face, but its eyes jump from your face down to your crotch, then back up again. Its hands twitch, but it huffs slightly.

It didn't immediately rip off your pants, so that must be a yes.

Onto the second part…

“Ok, cool. Um… So… If this is going to go- uh, in any direction, I guess, I need to know what to call you.”

It doesn't respond. It keeps its emotionless face fixed on yours.

You wave a hand nervously, “Y'know, like a name? You have one, right? I don't want to call you, uh, “thing” or “monster” or “Trenchy” or whatever.”

Pointing to yourself, you add, “I'm Leon. Leon Kennedy.”

No reaction.

…

“... You have to give me something to work with here.”

It must have been at least 30 seconds, and you had started to squirm and dart your eyes away when it stood. You watch it walk right next to you before getting on its knees once more, leather creaking under its weight.

It takes a gloved hand and slowly moves a lapel of its jacket aside, revealing a white patch stitched inside. You can't make it out, so you grab the lamp and position it closer.

It was a barcode, with numbers and letters underneath that just seemed like nonsense to you. But at the bottom, you see a string of letters seperate from all others. You lean in and grab the lapel to bring it closer.

UC/06011998/0-6 T-00

“MR. X”

“... Is that your name?” You look up, “Mr. X?”

It doesn't respond. It just watches you fiddle with the patch.

“Well… I'm not calling you MR. X. I think X is fine.”

It releases a deep hum from the back of its throat, not seeming bothered one way or another by what you call it.

Finally, the third part.

“Cool, Ok… Uh…”

How exactly do you put this? Maybe just ripping the bandaid off would be best.

“I'm not comfortable doing… stuff in here.”

… It looks confused at your statement, but patiently waits for you to continue.

“I mean, there's a huge hole in the wall. A zombie could just walk right on in. It's not safe.”

It rolls its eyes, holy shit, and begins to lower its head down toward you again, but you push it away.

“I'm serious.”

A loud growl suddenly fills the room, and it bares its teeth at you. It reaches for you-

And you shove the hands away.

It slams its hands down on the desk in a fit of rage-

Breaking it, making you fall to the ground in a pile of broken, splintered wood.

…

It is very hard not to laugh right now, considering the face of how it is pointedly not making eye contact with you right now, hands still hovering in the air where the desk was.

If it wasn't dark due to the now broken lamp, you would have said it looked embarrassed.

“Heh, well… I guess we really do have to go find somewhere else now.”

A short, faint rumble of agreement.

You both stand to your feet, and as you wipe your pants off of any stray splinters, it makes to pick you up again.

“I can walk, X. I'm fine.”

Another huff, but it pulls away to walk to the hole in the wall. It waits for you to gather your clothes off the floor before it stomps off, you trailing behind it.

Cue the weirdest walk of the police department you have had all night. Half naked, carrying your clothes as you follow an actual monster through the halls to find a room.

(To fool around in, specifically)

You both go down the stairs through the halls, and at one point encounter a zombie shambling around the corner. It must have come in through a window, as its torso glistens with broken shards of glass. You nearly dropped your clothes to go for Matilda, but X grabbed the zombie with both hands and raised it into the air.

It turned its head, making direct eye contact with you as it tore the fucking zombie in half.

The sounds of bones breaking and the sickening sound of sinew and tissue tearing filled your ears. Blood and pus squirted into the air, falling in large puddles onto the ground as it dug its fingers in further, eventually tearing it down the middle from its shoulder to crotch. Organs fell out of its torso to the ground with a wet plop, followed by the two halves of the zombie.

The zombie still groaned from the ground, but was silenced when X stepped on its skull and crushed it under its boot.

Its eyes never left yours as it turned around to face you.

(Holy shit)

(That was the hottest thing you have ever seen in your entire life)

Blood dripped down the front of its trench coat onto the ground as it looked at you, seeming pleased at your slack jawed expression. You could see some blood dripping off of its face as it got closer to you, leaning down and grabbing your chin with a gloved hand. You could feel blood getting wiped onto your chin from the action.

(Holy shit it's getting even closer now holyshitholyshitholyshit-)

In an attempt to diffuse the situation, your brain thoughtfully provided the perfect sentence for you to say;

“We’re gonna have to wipe that shit off of you now.”

… It drops your chin, and storms off without looking back.

Welp. Nice going Leon.

You run behind it, saying, “Shit, sorry, sorry-” as it goes to the main hall, through the library and lounge, until it stops in front of the linen room.

“Ah,” you start to explain, “I haven't found the key for that one yet-”

It punches a hole into the door next to the doorknob, and unlocks the door.

It pointedly looks at you after opening the door. You walk inside.

Its small, about the size of the office in the dark room. Towels sit in metal racks and tubs on one wall, while washing machines and dryers of different sizes are scattered across the room. You step further inside, breathing in the clean smell. It might be a bit strong, but it's a great change from the general musty, dead stench the rest of the building has. You sit your clothes down in an unoccupied corner.

The door clicks closed, and you watch X step across the room and tear one of the smaller washing machines out of the wall, disconnecting cables and wires as it places it in front of the closed door, making the rack of hangers in front of the door jingle.

Well, that's one way to make sure nothing would get in any time soon.

However…

You quickly grab some towels, reaching between X and the washing machine to stuff them in the hole in the door, to stifle any sounds.

“That's better.”

You look up at it, and see it looking down on you with an irritated expression on its face.

“Ah… Uh, sorry.”

You back away, standing against the larger set of washing machines at the back of the room. X approaches, closing the small distance between the two of you.

The cold metal digs into your back as you put yourself flush against it. It looms over you, and you are made keenly aware that you are now half naked in a room with no escape once more, unless you could toss a washing machine out of the way in less than 2 milliseconds.

(Although, it's not like you want to escape)

It makes no effort to move out of your personal space, meeting your fidgety gaze with its unmoving one.

It doesn't need to use words for you to realize it wants to know if you will be making any other… demands of it.

“Oh, crap, yeah, a towel, hold on.”

Your hand flies back behind you onto the washer, searching for a towel. You don't find one. Damn, you should have grabbed an extra one while you were over there.

Well… You have another idea, if that's the case.

“Can I…” you gesture to its chest, “Take all this off of you?”

… No response.

“Well, the towels are over there, and it'd be much easier and clean for me if you just took it off. Besides, I'm already half naked and… I wanna see you, too.”

… A low hum. Low enough you almost didn't hear it.

“...Ok.”

You gradually undo the buttons of its trench coat, untying the belt at its waist (why even have a belt if you weren't going to use it properly?)

It looked down at you unbuckling the straps on its arms, flipping them slowly to help you get a better angle. It looked at you with an almost contemplative look as you tried shimmying the heavy article of clothing of its wide shoulders. The jacket falls to the ground at its feet, and you are left looking at its very expanse chest.

You would have laughed at the fact it was wearing a sleeveless leather shirt underneath if it also didn’t make you weak at the knees from how muscular it was.

You start taking off its leather gloves with no protest from it. You would have been faster if you also were not avoiding the blood and other gorey particles still on its hands, but they make their way to the floor as well eventually.

You look at X questioningly as you raise your hands to unbuckle the straps at its neck, but it makes no effort to stop you. You undo them, and start lifting its shirt when you realize you have a small problem.

“Yeah, that hats gonna have to go.”

X growls, seemingly offended by the idea.

You huff, “Unless you rip your shirt off, it's gonna come off anyway!”

It growls still, tapering off slowly as you continue to stare at each other. You bunch the bottom of the leather shirt up in your hands as you wait.

Eventually, it reaches up to its fedora, grabbing it and letting it fall to the ground with the other clothes.

You give it a small smile as thanks.

It doesn't smile back.

(Of course it wouldn't, its still a fucking monster, and you're trying to humanize it in ways it isn't)

You shake your head to get the thought out of your head, and attempt to lift the shirt off. You're too short to raise it off its head, even if you stand on the tips of your toes, but it takes over for you, lifting the offending fabric off with ease and letting it land on the ground.

Goddamn, is X ripped.

It stands before you, its muscles just as grey and wrinkled as its face. Most bodybuilders that you've seen in your life have big muscles, but they're looks. They're not actually that strong.

But you've seen this thing in action. This things muscles are legit. And Christ, its upper arm is as thick as your head, maybe a little bigger.

You can feel your dick harden again as you touch its abs.

It doesn't move as you explore its torso and arms, feeling the muscles in awe. Its skin is cold, just as freezing as its lips were much, much earlier. You slide your hands over each wrinkle, tracing the lines they make on its wide body.

A newly bared hand finds its way to your hair, tangling itself in your locks. It lets you continue as its other hand touches your waist, rubbing circles into your flesh. You find yourself drawn closer to it, closing your eyes and pressing your face against its torso. In a particularly brave moment, you nip one its abs.

It growls from deep within its chest, different from the other times. It pushes up against you more.

And you realize it has a boner, rubbing against your own chest within its now tighter leather pants.

Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck-

You let a hand glide down its torso to its growing erection, palming it over the leather. It grunts suddenly, spreading its legs wider to allow better access as it pulls your hair. You groan, forced to look it in the eye as you rub it harder through its pants. Your legs start shaking as a heady sensation starts to fill your mind.

You don't notice the hand on your waist has left till you see it fiddling with the monsters belt and you realize that holy shit this is really, really, happening-

It lets go of your hair to shove its pants down to its ankles, its dick now free of any constraints.

Well… It's big. That makes sense, given how large X is.

It's not wrinkly like you expected it to be. The head of its dick pokes you, smearing droplets of precum on your chest. You waste no time wrapping both your hands around it and begin stroking, eliciting X to grab your head as it grunts, the other hand coming down on top of the washing machine. You can hear the metal creak under its grip when you spit on your hands for lubrication, watching its foreskin go back and forth over its greyish pink head.

And God, watching its pupils grow wide as you give it a handjob is making you wet, too.

Its nose twitches suddenly, and it breathes in deeply.

It pulls its hand away from your head, and picks you up quickly, sitting you down on top of the washing machine. It forces your legs wide with both hands, and bends over and plants its face firmly in your crotch and holy shit its fucking smelling you again-

And it nearly starts digging its hand into your belt and tugging, before it remembers and stops. X gives you pointed look between your legs. It wants them off. Now.

Fuckfuckfuck.

How the hell do you explain to this monster what the hell being trans is? Does it even understand the concept of gender? It had no reason to comment on your chest, you had keyhole surgery which made scarring minimal.

But, your genitals on the other hand…

“Ah, wait, uh-”

It rumbles against your dick, sending vibrations through your pants. You gasp, feeling your dick twitch, and you try and back away on the washing machine but it drags you closer and holds you in place by the hips. Its resolve grows, nuzzling you through the fabric as it digs its fingers into you.

Fuck, it might just rip your pants off anyway if you don't hurry up and do it yourself.

You fiddle with the utility belt and hip pouches on your legs first, getting it to back off as it watches you take the annoying barriers away. Next go the knee pads, falling onto the floor as you slide your shoes and socks off. You undo your belt, then unbutton and unzip as you force both your pants and boxer briefs down your legs and kick them off.

Your dick stands hard in the cold air as your vagina leaks, X finding its way back between your legs. It slams down onto its knees, and doesn't seem to give your genital set up a second thought as grabs your legs and throws them over its shoulder-

And you nearly scream when it sticks its cool tongue out and licks you from your hole to your dick.

It laps at you, trailing its rough tongue around your dick as you moan. Your body shakes, supporting yourself with your hands as it takes your entire dick into its mouth and sucks. Pleasure courses through you, and you gasp to the rhythm it's making.

“Hah- Ha- Holy shi- Shit-”

Your noises only spur it on further, and it growls with your dick in its mouth as it sucks harder, like it's trying to suck your very being out of the tip of your dick. The vibrations send electricity running from the tips of your toes to your brain, and you have to lie down against the washing machine lest you fall. The cold metal quickly heats up under your sweaty skin.

Your dick twitches in its mouth at it swirls the head with its tongue, but too soon, it pops off with a wet suction noise. You nearly beg for it to continue when its tongue finds itself lower, licking your hole. Your juices and its saliva mix as it laps both up greedily, and your legs involuntarily squeeze its head when it forces its tongue inside you.

Your head hits the wall, and you cant stop fucking moaning as its tongue explores inside your body, travelling along your inner walls like its tasting a goddamn delicacy. God, if you were in the right mind you would be embarrassed at all the sounds you're making, but you're not, you're getting oral sex from an actual monster-

You feel it pull its tongue out, and you groan from the lack of sensation.

“Fuck, no, don't stop-”

A cold finger finds its way inside you, and you squeal. It's BIG, and it kind of hurts, but the pain turns into pleasure as its mouth finds its way back to your dick again and takes it down to the root, your pubes rubbing up against its nose as it stares at you.

You cover your mouth with a hand to cover a moan, and it growls, its free hand reaching out and tearing it away. It hurts but holy fuck its turning you on even more and the sensations grow even more as it starts moving the finger in and out of you, making a gross wet noise that fills the room.

Your other hand touches its bare head, feeling the smoother skin of its scalp as it sucks you off. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight, its eyes half lidded as it gives you your first blowjob. You squirm, feeling its hand on your wrist tighten, trying to make you stay still but fuck that just turns you on even more-

A second finger finds its way inside you, and your back arches, mouth wide open as you moan harder. God, it's so much- its too much- it's not enough-

It sucks you down even harder as your legs tighten against its skull, and you can feel an orgasm building quickly deep in your core.

“X, Fuck- X- Hah- I-I’m gonna, ah, AH-”

Your dick twitches again in its mouth, and you cum. You scream, shaking as your entire body feels blissful release. You can feel your hole clench around the intruding fingers as it doesn't stop, drawing out your orgasm. Your body feels like it's floating, and for a few seconds you can't feel anything other than pure euphoria.

You come down eventually from the natural high, panting as X pulls its fingers out of you and fucking licks them, holy shit-

And it stands up, its huge dick hard as a rock, and stands tall over you.

And fuck, you want it. You need it, bad.

You try and collect yourself, sitting up as you ask, “I, hah, wont turn into a zombie if we,” You swallow, “Have sex, will I?”

It rolls its eyes again. Well, you suppose it was a pretty dumb question, considering you would already be fucked since it just had its tongue inside you twenty seconds ago. But you needed some assurance.

X picks you up, making you stand for a moment as it kicks its pants and shoes off and forces its clothes out of the way (but is slightly more gentle with the fedora). It grabs the dryer next to the washing machine, pulling it out of the wall as it sits them in front of each other. It picks you up again (and damn, you're really enjoying this manhandling now) and lays you down on top of them. It leans over you, and you can feel its dick rubbing against your ass as you wrap your legs around it, and you think about how that washing machine comes up to your belly button but to X its comes just up to its thighs, shit-

You can feel it position its dick to your entrance, but doesn't make an attempt to move.

You look up at it and blink.

…

It still doesn't move.

“Uh… We can start now?”

It rumbles.

…That wasn't good enough.

“... Please?”

…Nothing.

You are fucking dying here. You need this shit yesterday, and it's not doing anything at all-

“Fuck, X, please just put it in already, I need it-”

You gasp, interrupted as it fits its head inside you. It goes slowly, rubbing (comforting?) circles into your hips as you adjust to the stretch, until it's filled you up completely.

It doesn't move again.

And fuck, it kind of hurts, but you want it so goddamn bad you don't care.

“Please, X, please, just move already-”

It pulls out just as slowly, and you whine, missing the stretch already, but then it snaps its hips forward suddenly, and you see stars.

“Ah! AH! Fuck, oh fuck-”

It sets up a brutal pace, pounding into you as it makes sure you don't move, the grip on your hips surely bruising. You can feel its balls slapping against your ass, and it groans above you, louder than ever before. The pain you felt before gives way to utter pleasure, and you moan and pant, feeling your dick grow hard again under its muscular form.

Your legs around it tighten, trying to draw X closer to you as you chant, “X, holy fuck, X-” spurring it on faster, and you cry out in ecstasy as it rubs up against something in you, and you feel yourself start to drool.

Your dick bounces up and down between the two of you, begging for attention, so you reach down and take it in hand, jerking yourself off as X fucks you into the washer and dryer. God, it all feels so good, but you need more, you need more-

“Choke me.”

It doesn't stop, but it looks down at you confused.

“Please fucking choke me, fuck-”

A hand leaves your hip and grabs your throat in an instant, and it wastes no time in squeezing.

You gasp, feeling your throat close in its grasp. Your other hand grabs its wrist tightly, and your lungs start to send signals to your brain that they need air, but it feels so good, and you let out breathy moans and sputters as it fucks you.

You feel its hand on your throat tighten, and you really can't breathe now. All you can do is mouth “harder” or “faster” the set of washer and dryer get forced further into the wall, and did you just hear something cracking behind you- But you don't care, you need to cum again, fuck-

Your lungs feel like they're on fire now, and your vision is starting to spot a little, but you're so close, you're getting there-

X leans down completely on top of you, crushing your body under its as it takes your shoulder into its mouth and bites as hard as it can.

You would scream if you had the breath.

You cum once more, the mixture of pain and pleasure too much as you twitch and squirm helplessly underneath it, eyes rolling into your head.

It doesn't stop, dick slamming in and out of you as your legs start to turn to jelly. Then, suddenly, it gives one more forceful thrust and it damn near groans into your shoulder as it comes inside you. Lukewarm semen pumps into you as it orgasms, and you can feel it begin to leak out of your hole and down onto the floor.

It doesn't pull out after it's done, letting go of its grip on your neck as it licks the blood off your shoulder. You whimper, the tongue cold against the hot and irritated skin. Then the coughing starts.

It pulls back, and takes its dick out as you sputter and choke on your own spit. You can't talk for a few minutes, your lungs struggling to fill with oxygen. You wipe stray tears from your eyes as you look up at it.

It looks concerned. It has its head almost imperceptibly tilted slightly as it watches you cough.

You're still coming down from the high, and you still feel lightheaded when you say, “I'm fine.”

You have a coughing fit again.

“That was… Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. Holy shit.

When you are done coughing, you find that it has found another first aid spray. It grabs your chin softly, raising your head for it to spray it on your neck. The tingling sensation feels great against the harsh, forming bruise as it rubs it in gently. When it's done, you take a deep breath, feeling almost back to normal again.

Well… As normal as you can feel after getting fucked that hard. You don't know if you can stand just yet.

“Hey, can you, uh, hand me a towel, please?”

It stoops down to get one from the floor, but you interrupt it, “A clean one. Please.”

It huffs, but gets you a clean one from behind the both of you.

You thank it, and dab the stray blood pooling on your shoulder as it starts to dress itself. Fuck, it was super hot in the moment, but now it just hurts, throbbing painfully.

(...Who are you kidding, it's still kinda hot)

“You sure I won't turn into a zombie now?”

It stops putting its pants back on, looking at you pointedly.

“Ok, ok, just making sure.”

Only after its done clothing itself do you attempt to stand, and you feel like a baby animal walking for the first time as your legs nearly give out. X reaches out, holding onto your arm so you don't fall.

You make a point not to look at it as you wipe its cum from between your legs. Fuck, you're gonna need to clean that out later. You need a shower.

You throw the now crusty, soiled towel onto the floor as you try and put your clothes back on. It's hard, your body still wet from sweat, but you manage it eventually, adjusting the kevlar vest into place. Its weight is comforting to you, and you didn't realize how much you missed it till now.

…Things get slightly awkward.

What the hell do you do now? Do you say, “Hey, thanks for fucking me silly!” and leave? Will it just leave you alone now? Your head is thrumming with thought after thought of what to do that you don't pay attention to it moving the washer out of the way.

The opening of the door alerts you, and you look over at it.

The towels are still hanging out of the door as it looks resolutely at you, holding it open.

You walk through the doorway on much less shaky legs, and look up at it, “Thanks.”

X does not respond, only closing the door once you've stepped through it out into the hall.

You turn around to face it, “...So… Uh… What now? How's this gonna work?”

X looks at you like you asked the dumbest goddamn question in the world. Or maybe you're just projecting.

But you get the feeling you aren't losing it that easily, from the look on its face.

(It takes a weight off your chest you didn't know you had)

“Ah, ok. Uh… Let's get the key card then, I guess?”

It grunts in affirmation. You let a small smile form before turning to the lounge door, making a mental map of the police department to your destination.

(You don't see the barely there flicker of its own smile, but you do hear the footsteps stomping behind you)


End file.
